Lilies in the Thorns
by MissScarlettJ
Summary: Briar Evans was used to the twists and turns in life, or so he thought. But when life starts throwing curses and spells your way, your only choice is to dodge and hope the people behind you don't get hit. Male Self-insert OC. Eventual Regulus/OMC. Slash!


He died before he could live. Well, as much as he would have liked to. He still had so much he wanted to do. He wanted to go skydiving, and find this _one_ people wrote so much about. He wanted to go out with a bang, not a whimper. But you know what they say. If you want to God to laugh, make plans. He must have made too many plans.

He was born into high-class family in Leeds, West Yorkshire England. His parents were young, and pressured into an unhappy marriage. He was a terrible reminder of that. His father threw himself into his inherited company, his mother into a bottle. It was disgustingly cliche.

He was raised by nannies. Yes, nannies, plural. He enjoyed terrorizing them, and because of that they tended not to last longer than six months. He'd put dye in their shampoo, ran away while they took him out in public, stole all their underwear and stapled them to the front of the house. He was the kind of kid they wrote movies about, and every nanny that came to him thought they would be his Marry Poppins. They never were.

There were a few downsides to his behavior, though the worst of all had to be the seclusion. Due to his habit of running from nannies, he was placed under house arrest for the majority of his childhood.

It was torture at first. Staring blankly at walls. Wandering the gardens with no real goal in mind. Then he had a nanny by the name of Amelia, who introduced him to the wonders of having a library inside your house. She was his favorite and lasted longer than any of the others. Then, around the time he started secondary school, her sister feel sick and she left to take care of her. None of the others lasted half a year after that.

The library became his sanctuary, the bookstore his haven. He read like it was going out of style. Reading everything from teen vampire romances to classics. Friends stayed at school, never going deeper than complaining about teachers and homework, and books became his trusted companions.

That is until shortly after he started puberty. Dreams started to get weird, and after his fifth dream about a certain blond Slytherin, he decided to dig deeper. Yep, that's right folks. He found out he was gay from erotic dreams about Draco Malfoy!

He was just awesome like that.

He had a few boyfriends after that, but none lasted too long. They were all teenage boys who barely cared about anything more than sex. He wanted something deeper. He wanted to find the deep, sometimes painful connection, people wrote entire books around. The kind that people started wars over.

He didn't find it, not in that lifetime at least.

He was seventeen when he died in the same cliche way he was born. He was sitting in the backseat of his car, when a some asshole came out of nowhere and tee-boned him.

That was the end of Arron Garrett and the birth of Briar Evans.

* * *

The ceiling was yellow, an ugly gender neutral color which made Briar's inner flamboyant gay scream in outrage. Nothing should be that color. If his new parents wanted a gender neutral nursery so bad they should have painted it purple, or red, or green, or anything other than the awful color coming right off a terrible sitcom.

The first six months had been a blur, quite literally. A baby's mind isn't suited to make more memories than this is mum, that is the dad, whiny one is the big sister, crying one is the twin, the new name is Briar. It hurt to think much past that, so he didn't.

Around the time he learned to sit up for long periods of time, his brain was ready for more. He watched, he listened, and he learned. He learned his twin was not identical to him, in fact, she was a girl. Her name was Lily. Her hair was red, her eyes were green, and she was developing quite the temper. She learned his older sister's name was Petunia, and she was around the age of two. She liked attention. Their parents' names were John and Rose. Rose was a stay at home mother with an award winning garden, she had a bit of a flower complex. John was a policeman who worked a little too hard, and a little too much.

Then, or course, there was the most important discovery of all. His last name was Evans. Which made his twin Lily Evans and their sister Petunia Evans. Then add the lack of the internet, the black and white telly, and cigarette smoke everywhere. All the evidence pointed to him being the twin brother of one Harry Potter's mother.

He didn't know whether to cheer or cry.

So he stared up at the god awful ceiling and contemplated the situation he had found himself stuck in. It was around tea time and they had just been put down for their afternoon nap. The curtains were drawn to block out the sun. But even the heavy material couldn't keep out the summer sun at its height.

Lily squirmed next to him, uncomfortable in thick, humid air. Shifting the cot slightly with every movement. There was no way either of them were going to get any sleep in this heat.

So instead, he thought. There was every possibility he was sharing a cot with the mother of a the main character of an international best seller. Which made to brought up too many issues to count.

Firstly, it was quite impossible, and even if it was true he was stuck with a major predicament. After all, he couldn't let his twin die at the hands of a maniac. He was starting to become fond of her.

Briar sighed, squirming slightly as his onesie stuck to his back with sweat. He didn't even know if he was a wizard. How could he plan to save his sister without knowing what powers he had to do so?

Lily started to move more desperately, making little unhappy noises at the heat in the room. He agreed, someone really had to come in and turn the air condition on. Did they have air conditioning in the 60's? He wasn't sure.

Soon Lily's noises became full cries, he could sympathize. It was much to hot, even for July. After a minute or so, Rose stepped in. Her dress seeming to be in the state as their onesies. Behind her trailed a young Petunia, tear tracks on her cheeks and wearing nothing but a pair of underwear.

Briar envied her.

"Shh." Rose cooed. "Mummy's here."

She reached for Lily first, her being closer, and pulled her out her clothes before setting her back down. She repeated the action with Briar before kissing them both on the heads.

"Sleep now my loves," She whispered.

As she leads Petunia back to her room, Briar's eyes started to drift closed in his now cooler state.

Thinking could wait for later, he decided.

* * *

Three months passed, Briar learned to walk, helping Lily along the way. She fell on him. Fourteen times. Rose squealed she found them. John was working.

Another month, Lily said her first word: "Bri." It became his name. He spoke his first word: "Wil." He was much too proud of himself. Talking became their new hobby, Rose seemed worried about his range of vocabulary so he tried to tune it down. John got home late.

Three weeks, Petunia became Tuney, named so by Lily after a thousand fails at saying Petunia with a baby's tongue. Bri picked it up immediately, annoyed that he had forgotten about the nickname. Afterward, he tried to run through the Harry Potter facts he had in his head at least once a week.

A year, Lily ran faster than Bri, but he fell less, so he called it even. She never cried, instead she giggled and made him help her up. Unless John was there, then it became the end of the world until he picked her up tucked her head into his neck, making little shushing noises. Bri never cried, Rose fretted about it.

Six months, John was promoted to detective. Rose made him his favorite meal in celebration, ready to surprise him when he got home. They ate without him, his plate growing cold. Rose had three of her clover cigarettes.

Two weeks, a thunderstorm hit. The first since they were newborns. Lily crawled into his bed, buried her head into his neck, and didn't stop sobbing into him until it passed. In the morning, Rose found them curled around each other. Their red hair one on the white pillow.

A year and two months, Tuney started school. She cried into Rose, begging her not to make her go in the morning. In the afternoon, she skipped through the door and told Bri and Lily all about how she was a big girl and they wouldn't understand because they were babies. Lily got so angry the door slammed in Tuney's face without either of them touching it. Bri lost any previous doubt he had about Lily being a witch.

Eight months, Lily and Bri were allowed to roam the neighborhood without Rose. This struck Bri as unsafe, but Lily was so excited he let it go. Keeping a sharp eye for any suspicious people on the street. After school got out, Tuney would join them at the park. There were only two swings, and instead of insisting he get one, Bri let the girl's have them. When Rose finds out she calls him a gentleman, but something flashes behind her blue eyes.

Eleven months, Easter hit and Bri was once again forced to go to church. Afterward, John and Rose spend nearly an hour talking to other parents in the neighborhood while Bri and his sisters went to play with the other kids, Bri got pushed into the mud and ruined his church clothes Rose were so proud of. The boy who pushed him in gets more mud when Bri's magic lashes out and covers him head to toe in the stuff. When the family finally gets home Bri is so elated that he was a wizard he barely remembered to panic when John announces he will be teaching him to play football.

* * *

The ground makes an ugly squishing sound with every step Bri takes, getting more mud on his trainers the closer he gets to the center of the field. The sun is shining, warming the air and adding to the humidity, but not yet high enough to cause any discomfort. The visor on Bri's cap cast a shadow over his face, hopefully guarding against any freckles that might form.

John is three steps ahead. Bouncing the checkered football between his hands, a certain skip to his step that only serves to deepen Bri's dark mood. In his opinion sports were only to be watched, not played. And even then the only thing that got him to games were the men in tight clothes.

More mud splattered itself onto his previously white trainers.

With an abrupt motion, John stops walking and spins to face Bri. It's all Bri can not run head first into him. Taking a moment to gain his balance, Bri turns his green eyes to up to met his father's identical ones.

"Are you ready Briar?" John asks.

"No."

Ignoring his reluctant son, John continued. "Football is the sport of men!" He declared. "Passed down from generation to generation of English men, from father to son. It is the very heart of our nation! I am ashamed of myself for not teaching you until now. Four years are much too long without the wonderful sport of football."

Bri stared up at him, internally calculating how far he could get from this crazy person without getting caught.

"Are you ready son?!" John repeated, clapping a heavy hand onto Bri's small shoulder.

"Absolutely not," Bri said.

"That's the spirit!" John beamed.

Ten minutes later found Bri standing with a ball in front of him that reached half way up his shin. He stared at it, wondering how such a thing could be so complicated.

"Okay," John called, settling into his place ten feet away. "Now remember, this time, kick with inside of your foot."

Bri nodded, now oddly determined, and took a step forward. He turned his right foot so the arch faced the ball and kicked. It only reached half way.

John sighed, forcing a chuckle in half way through the breath. "Okay, let's try that again." He placed the ball in front of himself. "Like this son." He demonstrated the kick sending the ball flying towards his son, perfectly aimed for the boy's legs. Bri stepped to the side, allowing the ball to roll past him.

John took a deep breath, loud enough for Bri to hear it from his spot, and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

"Next time try and catch it," He said.

Bri tilted his head. "But I thought I wasn't allowed to touch the ball with my hands."

"Not with your hands," John took another deep breath, "With your feet. Try to catch the ball with your feet."

Bri knew what he was referring to, he just had no idea how to do it himself. He fetched the ball, placing it back in front of him and took a step back. With a small step forward, he lifted a foot, making sure it was facing the ball the right way, and brought it to the ball. It landed on top of the checkered monstrosity and spun under his trainer. Sending him face first into the mud.

This was not the last time it happened.

After nearly two hours of the same torture, Bri was more than ready to go home. The sun was now at full height and the air was full and sticky. Mud caked his outfit and found it's way into some uncomfortable spots.

Bri was done with the father/son bonding John, however, was not.

"Come on Bri!" He said, a cigarette hanging from his lips. "Just one last try."

"You said that fifty tries ago," Bri muttered, to quiet for John to hear.

Still he approached the ball, pulled his foot back, and kicked as hard as he could. His green eyes closed, preparing for the impact of the ground. It didn't come. He cracked an eye open expecting to see the ball sitting just a few feet in front of him, but instead he found it in the last place he expected. Between his father's feet.

John's cigarette had fallen out of his mouth in shock, as he stared blankly at the mud crusted ball. Then with a giant whoop, he rushed forward. Grabbing Bri like he weighed nothing he spun him, Bri's legs fanned out before he put his legs around his father. Their laughing filled the air, and as John stopped spinning the small boy Bri tucked his head into his neck. Hugging him tightly.

It was the first time John had held him since he was a baby.

"Let's go celebrate with dinner!"

They walked the half mile home, Bri on his hip holding the football. John talking about all the rules of football like it was the most important thing in the world, and Bri found himself actually listening.

* * *

Nearly six months later the first day of school had arrived. The day Bri had been dreading since he realized he had been reborn.

"Don't be nervous, okay loves?" Rose whispered, tears welling in her sky blue eyes. "You'll make lots of new friends, and learn lots of new stuff."

"I'm not nervous Mummy." Lily said, her hand tightening on his, she was lying. "I have Bri."

Rose switched her gaze to him, the usual odd look in them. The look made him uncomfortable. Sometimes it made Bri wonder if she knew, but he knew she couldn't. She just knew he was different, and it worried her.

"Are you nervous Bri?" She asked, her hand on his arm squeezing lightly, an almost hopeful smile on her face.

He shrugged. "It's just school."

Her smile dropped, just for a split second, before it was back full force. "Go to Mrs. Bluebell if you need anything. Okay?"

Mrs. Bluebell was a primary school teacher to end all primary teachers. A smile never left her full cheeks, dimples never getting a rest. Her dress was a light blue which matched her eyes to the very shade. A bow of the same color rested on top her very blonde hair, just a shade darker than Rose's.

Bri suspected she must have married her husband just for his last name, or maybe her obsession with the color was a side effect.

"I'll be here at 2:30, and we'll go to the diner for supper." Rose's broken voice on the last word, her blue eyes swelling.

Lily lifted her small pale hand to cup her mother's cheek. "It's okay Mummy," she whispered. "It's just school."

"Yes, yes. I know," she laughed. "Mummy's just silly."

Bri agreed.

"Okay." She opened her arms. "Give Mummy a goodbye hug."

Rose held them tight, tears spilling onto Bri's red hair. "You're going to have so much fun."

Bri did not have fun.

He had been prepared to relearn the alphabet. He had been dreading having to get simple maths wrong to blend in. The one thing, however, he had not been anticipating was perhaps the most obvious.

The children.

Bri was not, in any sense of the word, ready to take on an entire class of five-year old's, nor their teacher. So when Mrs. Bluebell herded them into a circle at the front of the room, announcing they would be learning all about one another, Bri was ready to bolt.

But Lily kept a solid hold on his hand, as if she could read his mind, and sat them right next to the cheery teacher. So Bri reeled himself up and prepared for the storm.

He was prepared for a tornado, but he got a hurricane.

"Okay children, we'll go around the circle and introduce ourselves and say what our favorite animal is!" Mrs. Bluebell cheered. "I'll start: My name is Mrs. Bluebell and my favorite animal is a cat! because cats are cute and fuzzy! Now you Lily."

For a second Lily looked as ready to run as Bri felt, but then she took a deep breath, looked the teacher straight on and said: "My name is Lily, and my favorite animal is a dolphin, because their pretty."

Mrs. Bluebell gave her a thousand-watt smile and then placed her expectant blue eyes on Bri. He hated his life.

"My name is Bri and …" He had to think for a moment. It wasn't like he was a real kid and spent his time thinking about animals and which ones he preferred. He was busy trying to find a way to change destiny. "My favorite animal is a wolf, a red wolf."

"And why's that." Mrs. Bluebell gently reminded.

A smirk found it's way across Bri face. "Because they kill things."

The teacher got an odd look on her face Bri found he quite enjoyed, but still she moved on.

The class spent the next agonizing hour with these exercises. What's your favorite color, food, song extra? It may have been the worst thing he had ever experienced, and he had once taken an advanced physics class.

The rest of the class was all about learning the alphabet. That was worse.

Then the beautiful sound of the bell rang through the room and then, finally, they were released to lunch and recess.

A group of girls dragged Lily off to play tea or whatever and Bri found himself with some peaceful quiet. But quiet got boring after a few minutes and he went to find his wayward twin.

Lily was not hard to find in the yard full of children. They were the only ones in their year who had red hair, and in the late summer sun, it tended to glow like a ruby. Though she was not playing with the other girls she knew from Sunday school. He found her cornered by Edward Smith, the same boy who had pushed Bri in the mud on Easter.

"Gingers don't have souls," he sneered, "Didn't you know that? Or did mummy not tell you?"

"I do have a soul," she growled, "and so do Bri and Daddy!"

This may be the worst day Bri had since he had been reborn.

"Leave her alone Smith," Bri said.

Smith's sneer grew as he turned to face Bri. "What're gonna do Evans? Splash mud on me?"

"Why?" Bri smirked, "scared mummy will be mad you ruined your _only_ shirt?"

Smith's face grew redder than a stop sign. "Your one to talk, no soul."

"You already used that one."

Smith's face slowly grew purple, but his sneer got impossibly bigger. "Your name is a flower."

"Actually," Lily spoke back up, "a briar is a bush with thorns."

With that Smith made a frustrated and stomped away. Bri turned to watch him go, feeling the air shift as Lily slid up to his back.

"You know a briar bush has flowers on it right?" He asked.

"I know, mum has them in the garden," said Lily.

"Mum has all of us in the garden."

Lily giggled.

* * *

 **AN-** Hello to all that are here from Stepping on Butterflies and all that are new! I hope you enjoyed this and the next chapter will be up soon!

Lots of love

Scarlett


End file.
